F 
777 

.2.) 
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287 


THE  COLORADO  SERIES 


THE  PROCESSION 
OF  FLOWERS  IN 
COLOR  ADO 


THE 

PROCESSION    OF   FLOWERS 

IN 

COLORADO 


THE 


PROCESSION  OF  FLOWERS 


IN 


COLORADO. 


HELEN   JACKSON, 


illustrated. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS    BROTHERS. 

1897- 


1T7 
z.\ 


Copyright,  1878,  1897, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


SJmtersttg  ^3rcss : 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


GMMPTON  ACCESMO* 

is;o 

MifCftOFT  UBRABY 

JUl.  25.1938 


THE  PROCESSION  OF  FLOWERS   IN 
COLORADO. 


SUPPOSE  the  little  black  boys  who  hang 
on  lamp-posts  along  the  route  of  a  grand 
city  procession  are  not  the  best  reporters  of 
the  parade.  They  do  not  know  the  names 
of  the  officials,  and  they  would  be  likely  to 
have  very  vague  ideas  as  to  the  number  of  minutes  it  took 
the  procession  to  pass  any  given  point ;  but  nobody  in  all 
the  crowd  will  have  a  more  vivid  impression  of  the  trap- 
pings of  the  show,  of  the  colors  and  the  shapes,  and  of 
the  tunes  the  bands  played.  I  am  fitted  for  a  chronicler 
of  the  procession  of  flowers  in  Colorado  only  as  little  black 
boys  are  for  chroniclers  of  Fourth  of  July  processions,  Of 
the  names  of  the  dignitaries,  and  the  times  at  which  they 
reached  particular  places,  I  am  sadly  ignorant ;  but  there 

7 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


is  hardly  a  color  or  a  shape  I  do  not  know  by  sight  and 
by  heart,  and  as  for  the  music  of  delight  which  the  bands 
play,  its  memory  is  so  vivid  with  me  that  I  think  its 
rhythm  would  never  cease  to  cheer  me  if  I  were  ban- 
ished for  ever  to  Arctic  snows. 

The  first  Colorado  flower  I  saw  was  the  great  blue 
windflower,  or  anemone.  It  was  brought  to  me  one 
morning,  late  in  April,  when  snow  was  lying  on  the 
ground,  and  our  strange  spring-winter  seemed  to  be  com- 
ing on  fiercely.  The  flower  was  only  half  open,  and  only 
half  way  out  of  a  gray,  furry  sheath  some  two  inches  long ; 
it  looked  like  a  Maltese  kitten's  head,  with  sharp-pointed 
blue  ears,  —  the  daintiest,  most  wrapped-up  little  blossom. 
"  A  crocus,  out  in  chinchilla  fur !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Not  a  crocus  at  all ;  an  anemone,"  said  they  who 
knew. 

It  is  very  hard,  at  first,  to  believe  that  these  anemones 
do  not  belong  to  the  crocus  family.  They  push  up  through 
the  earth  in  clusters  of  conical,  gray,  hairy  buds,  and  open 
cautiously,  an  inch  or  two  from  the  ground,  precisely  as 
the  crocuses  do  ;  but  day  by  day,  inches  at  a  time,  the 
8 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


stem  pushes  up, 
until  you  sud- 
denly find  some 
day  in  a  spot 
where  you  left 
low  clumps  of 
what  you  will 
persist,  for  a 
time,  in  calling 
blue  crocuses, 
great  bunches 
of  waving  blue 
flowers,  on  slender  stems  from  six  to  twelve  inches  high, 
the  blossoms  grown  larger  and  opened  wider,  till  they  look 
like  small  tulip  cups,  like  the  Italian  anemones.  A  week 
or  two  later  you  find  at  the  base  of  these  clumps  a  beau- 
tiful fringing  mat  of  leaves,  resembling  the  buttercup  leaf, 
but  much  more  deeply  and  numerously  slashed  on  the 
edges.  These,  too,  grow  at  last  away  from  the  ground, 
and  wave  in  the  air ;  and  by  the  time  they  are  well  up, 
many  of  the  flowers  have  gone  to  seed,  and  on  the  top 

9 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


of  each  stem  flutters  a  great  ball  of  fine,  feathery  seed 
plumes,  of  a  green  or  claret  color,  almost  as  beautiful 
as  the  blossom  itself.  These  anemones  grow  in  great 
profusion  on  the  foot-hills  of  the  mountains  to  the  west 
of  Colorado  Springs.  They  grow  even  along  the  road- 
sides, at  Manitou.  They  have,  apparently,  caprices  of 
fondness  for  certain  localities,  for  you  shall  find  one  ridge 
blue  with  them,  and  another,  near  by,  without  a  single 
flower. 

About  the  same  time  as  the  anemone,  or  a  little  before, 
comes  the  low  white  daisy,  harbinger  of  spring  in  Colorado, 
as  is  the  epigaea  in  New  England.  This  little  blossom 
opens  at  first,  like  the  anemone,  close  to  the  ground,  and  in 
thick-set  mats,  the  stems  so  short,  you  can  get  the  flower 
only  by  uprooting  the  whole  mat.  It  has  a  central  root 
like  a  turnip,  from  which  all  the  mats  radiate,  sometimes  a 
dozen  from  one  root.  Take  five  or  six  of  these  home,  and 
fill  a  low  dish  with  them,  and  the  little  brown  blades  of 
leaves  will  freshen  and  grow  up  like  grass,  and  the  daisies 
will  peer  up  higher  and  higher,  until  the  dish  looks  like  a 
bit  of  a  waving  field  of  daisies. 
10 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


Next  after  these  comes  the  mountain  hyacinth,  popularly 
so  called  for  no  other  reason  than  that  its  odor  is  like  the 
odor  of  the  hyacinth.  It  is  in  reality  a  lily.  It  is  the  most 
ethereal  and  delicate  of  all  our  wild  flowers,  and  yet  it 
springs  up,  like  the  commonest  of  weeds,  in  the  com- 
monest of  places  ;  even  in  the  dusty  edges  of  the  streets, 
so  close  to  the  ruts  that  wheels  crush  it,  it  lifts  its  snowy 
chalice.  On  neglected  opens,  in  pathways  trodden  every 
day,  you  may  see  these  lilies  by  dozens,  trampled  down  ; 
and  yet  at  first  sight  you  would  take  them  for  rare  and 
fragile  exotics.  The  blossom  is  star-shaped,  almost  pre- 
cisely like  the  white  jessamine,  and  of  such  fine  and 
transparent  texture  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  press  it ; 
one,  two,  sometimes  half  a  dozen  flowers,  rising  only  two 
or  three  inches  high  from  the  centre  of  a  little  bunch  of 
slender  green  leaves,  in  shape  like  the  blades  of  the  old- 
fashioned  garden-pink,  but  of  a  bright  green  color.  It  is 
one  of  the  purest  looking  blossoms.  To  see  it  as  we  do, 
growing  lavishly  in  highways,  trodden  under  foot  of  man 
and  beast,  is  a  perpetual  marvel  which  is  never  quite  free 
from  pain. 

II 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


After  these  three  forerunners  comes  a  great  outburst 
of  flowering  :  yellow  daisies  of  several  varieties,  yellow 
mustard,  a  fine  feathery,  white  flower,  and  vetches  of  all 
sizes,  shapes,  colors,  more  than  you  can  count.  And  here 
I  am  not  speaking  of  what  happens  in  nooks  and  corners 
of  the  foot-hills,  in  fields,  or  by-ways,  or  places  hard  to 
come  at.  I  am  speaking  of  what  happens  in  the  streets  of 
Colorado  Springs,  along  all  the  edges  of  the  sidewalks,  in 
little  spaces  left  at  crossings,  in  unoccupied  lots,  —  in 
short,  everywhere  in  the  town  where  man  and  his  houses 
have  left  room.  It  is  not  the  usual  commonplace  of  exag- 
geration ;  it  is  only  the  simplest  and  most  graphic  form  of 
exact  statement  you  can  find,  to  say  that  by  the  middle 
of  June  the  ground  is  a  mosaic  of  color.  The  vetches  are 
bewildering.  There  are  sixteen  varieties  of  vetch  which 
grow  in  one  small  piece  of  table-land  between  the  Colorado 
Springs  Hotel  and  the  railroad  station.  They  are  white, 
with  purple  markings,  all  shades  of  purple,  and  all  shades 
of  red  ;  some  of  them  grow  in  spikes,  standing  erect ; 
some  in  scrambling  and  running  vines,  with  clusters  of 
flowers  ;  some  with  single  blossoms,  like  the  sweet-pea, 
12 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


and  as  varied  in  color.  They  all  lie  comparatively  low, 
partly  from  the  want  of  bushes  and  shrubs  to  climb  on, 
partly  because  they  are  too  wise  to  go  very  far  away  from 
their  limited  water  supply  in  so  dry  a  coun- 
try ;  they  must  keep  close  to  the  ground,  or 
choke.  That  this  is  a  bit  of  specific  precau- 
tion on  their  part,  and  not  a  peculiarity  of 
their  varieties,  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  all 
along  the  creeks,  in  the  cotton-wood  and 
willow  copses,  we  find  the  same  vetches 
growing  up  boldly  many  feet  into  the  air, 
just  as  they  do  in  Italy,  leaping  from  shrub 
to  shrub,  and  catching  hold  on  anything 
which  comes  to  hand. 

By  the  third  week  in  June,  we  have  added 
to  these  brilliant  parterres  of  red,  purple, 
white,  and  yellow  in  our  streets  the  superb 
spikes  of  the  blue  pentstemon.  This  is  a 
flower  of  which  I  despair  to  give  any  idea  to 
one  a  stranger  to  it.  The  blossoms  are  shaped 
like  the  common  foxglove  blossom ;  they  grow 

13 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


on  the  stems  in  single,  double,  or  triple  rows,  as  may  be. 
I  have  seen  stems  so  tight  packed  with  blossoms  that  they 
could  not  stand  erect,  but  bent  over,  like  a  bough  too 
heavily  loaded  with  fruit.  Before  the  blue  pentstemon 
opens,  it  is  a  delicate  pink  bud  ;  when  it  first  opens,  it  is  a 
clear,  bright  blue,  as  blue  as  the  sky ;  day  by  day  its  tints 
change,  sometimes  to  a  purplish-blue  ;  sometimes  back 
again  towards  its  childhood's  pink,  so  that  out  of  a  hun- 
dred spikes  of  blue  pentstemon  you  shall  see  no  two  of 
precisely  the  same  tint ;  when  they  are  their  deepest,  most 
purple  blue,  they  look  like  burnished  steel ;  when  they  are 
at  their  palest  pink,  they  are  as  delicate  as  a  pink  apple- 
blossom.  O  New  Englander !  groping  reverently  among 
scattered  sunny  knolls  and  in  moist  wood  depths  for  scanty 
handfuls  of  pale  blossoms,  what  would  you  do  at  such  a 
banquet  as  this,  spread  before  you  whenever  you  stepped 
outside  your  door,  lying  between  you  and  the  post-office 
every  day  ?  For,  let  me  repeat,  these  flowers  of  which  I  have 
spoken  thus  far  are  only  the  flowers  which  grow  wild  in  our 
streets,  and  there  are  yet  many  that  I  have  not  mentioned : 
there  is  the  dark  blue  spider-wort,  which  is  everywhere  ; 
14 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


and  there  are  several  yellow  flowers,  and  one  of  pale  pink, 
and  several  of  white,  I  recollect,  whose  names  I  do  not 
know ;  neither  do  I  know  how  to  describe  their  shapes. 
I  am  as  helpless  as  the  little  black  boy  on  the  Fourth 
of  July,  —  I  can  describe  only  the  colors. 

Leaving  the  streets  of  the  town,  and  going  southwest 
towards  the  foot-hills  of  the  Cheyenne  Mountain,  we  come 
to  a  new  and  a  daintier  show.  As  soon  as  we  strike  the 
line  of  the  little  creek  which  we  must  follow  up  among 
the  hills,  we  find  copses  of  wild  plum  and  wild  roses  in 
full  bloom.  The  wild  rose  grows  here  in  great  thickets,  as 
the  black  alder  grows  in  New  England  swamps.  The  trees 
are  above  your  head,  and  each  bough  is  so  full  of  roses  it 
would  seem  an  impossibility  for  it  to  hold  one  rose  more. 
We  bear  wild  roses  home,  by  whole  trees,  and  keep  them 
in  our  rooms  in  great  masses  which  will  well-nigh  fill  a 
window.  I  have  more  than  once  tried  to  count  the  roses 
on  such  a  sheaf  in  my  window,  and  have  given  it  up. 

Along  the  banks  of  the  brook  are  white  daisies  and 
pink ;  vetches,  and  lupines,  white,  yellow,  and  purple.  The 
yellow  ones  grow  in  superb  spikes,  one  or  two  feet  from 

15 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


the  ground  ;  and  the  white  ones  in  great  branching  plants, 
six  or  seven  from  a  single  root.  On  the  first  slopes  of  the 
foot-hills  begins  the  gilia.  This  is  a  flower  hard  to  describe. 
Take  a  single  flower  of  a  verbena  cluster;  fancy  the  tubular 
part  an  inch  or  two  long,  and  the  flowers  set  at  irregular 
intervals  up  and  down  the  length  of  a  slender  stem ;  this 
is  the  best  my  ignorance  can  do  to  convey  the  idea  of  the 
shape  of  the  gilia.  And  of  the  color,  all  I  can  say  is  that 
the  gilia  is  what  the  botanists  call  a  sporting  flower ;  and 
I  believe  there  is  no  shade  of  red,  from  the  brightest 
scarlet  up  through  pale  pinks,  to  white,  which  you  may 
not  see  in  one  half  an  acre  where  gilias  grow.  It  is  a 
dancing  sort  of  flower,  flutters  on  the  stem,  and  the  stem 
sways  in  the  lightest  wind,  so  that  it  always  seems  either 
coming  towards  you  or  running  away. 

There  is  a  part  of  Cheyenne  Mountain  which  I  and  one 
other  have  come  to  call  "  our  garden."  The  possessive 
pronoun  has  no  legal  title  behind  it;  it  is  an  audacious 
assumption  not  backed  by  any  squatter  sovereignty,  nor 
even  by  any  contribution  towards  the  cultivation  of 
the  soil;  but  ever  since  we  found  out  the  place,  it  has 
16 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


been  mysterious- 
ly worked  "  on 
shares  "  for  our 
benefit  ;  and  as 
long  as  we  live 
we  shall  call  it 
our  garden.  It 
lies  five  or  six  hun- 
dred feet  above 
the  town,  four 
miles  away,  and 
has  several  plateaus  of  pine  groves 
from  which  we  look  off  into  eastern 
distances  back  of  the  sunrise;  it 
holds  two  or  three  grand  ravines, 
each  with  a  brook  at  bottom  ;  it  is 
walled  to  the  west  by  the  jagged  and  precipitous  side  of 
the  mountain  itself.  The  best  part  of  our  "  procession 
of  flowers"  is  always  here. 

Here  on  the  plateaus,  under  the  shade  of  the  pines,  are 
the  anemone  in  stintless  numbers,  daisies,  and  kinnikinnick. 

17 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


In  June  the  kinnikinnick  vines  are  full  of  little  pinkish- 
white  bells,  shaped  like  the  wintergreen  bell,  and  as  fra- 
grant as  the  linnaea  blossom.  Here  are  three  low-growing 
varieties  of  the  wild  rose,  none  more  than  two  or  three  inches 
from  the  ground :  one  pure  white,  one  white  with  irregular 
red  markings,  and  one  deep  pink.  The  petals  are  about 
one-third  larger  than  those  of  the  common  wild  rose. 

Here  are  blue  violets,  and  in  moist  spots  the  white 
violet  with  a  purple  and  yellow  centre.  Here  is  the 
common  red  field  lily  of  New  England,  looking  inexplicably 
away  from  home  among  pentstemons  and  gilias,  as  a  coun- 
try belle  might  in  court  circles.  Here  is  the  purple 
clematis  ;  a  half-parasitic  plant  this  seems  to  be,  for  you 
find  it  wound  up  and  up  to  the  very  top  of  an  oak  or 
cherry  bush,  great  lengths  of  its  stem  looking  as  dead  as 
old  drift-wood,  but  whorls  of  lovely,  fringing  green  leaves 
and  purple,  cup-shaped  blossoms  bursting  out  at  intervals, 
sometimes  a  foot  apart.  How  sap  reaches  them,  through 
the  cracked  and  split  stems,  it  is  hard  to  see  ;  but  it  does, 
for  you  can  carry  one  home,  trellis  and  all,  set  it  in  water, 
and  the  clematis  will  live  as  long  as  the  oak  bush  will. 
18 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


Here  is  the  purple  pentstemon,  never  but  a  single  row 
of  blossoms  on  its  stem,  and  the  scarlet  pentstemon,  most 
gorgeous  of  its  family.  This,  too,  has  but  a  single  row  of 
flowers  on  its  stem  ;  they  are  small,  of  the  brightest  scarlet, 
and  the  shape  is  somewhat  different  from  the  other  pent- 
stemons ;  longer,  slenderer,  and  more  complicated,  they  look 
like  fairy  gondolas  hung  by  their  prows.  I  have  seen  the 
stems  as  high  as  my  shoulder,  and  the  scarlet  gondolas 
swinging  all  the  way  down  to  within  a  foot  of  the  ground. 

Here  are  great  masses  of  a  delicate  flowering  shrub,  a 
rubus,  I  think  I  have  heard  it  called.  Its  flower  is  like 
a  tiny  single-petalled  rose,  of  a  snow-white  color.  On  first 
looking  at  the  bush,  you  would  think  it  a  wild  white  rose, 
till  you  observed  the  leaf,  which  is  more  like  a  currant 
leaf.  Here  also  are  bushes  of  the  Missouri  currant,  with 
its  golden-yellow  blossoms,  exhaustless  in  perfume  ;  and  a 
low  shrub  maple,  which  has  a  tiny,  apple-green  flower,  set  in 
a  scarlet  sheath  close  at  the  base  of  each  leaf,  so  small 
that  half  the  world  never  discovers  that  the  bush  is  in 
flower  at  all.  Here  are  blue  harebells,  and  Solomon's  seal 
both  low  and  high;  and  here  is  the  yellow  cinquefoil.  In 
the  moist  spots,  with  the  white  violets,  grows  the  shooting 

19 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


star,  finer  and  daintier  than  the  Italian  cyclamen;  its  sharp- 
pointed  petals  of  bright  pink  fold  back  like  rosy  ears ;  in  its 
centre  is  a  dark-brown  circle  round  a  sharp  needle-point  of 
yellow.  There  are  many  more,  but  of  all  the  rest  I  will 
speak  only  of  one,  —  the  great  yellow  columbine.  This 
grows  in  the  ravines.  The  flower  is  like  our  garden  colum- 
bine, but  larger,  and  of  an  exquisite  yellow,  sometimes  with 
white  in  the  centre.  It  grows  here  in  such  luxuriant  tufts 
and  clumps  that  you  will  often  find  thirty  and  forty  flower- 
stems  springing  up  from  one  root.  Of  this  plant  I  recollect 
the  botanical  name,  which  was  told  me  only  once,  but  I  could 
no  more  forget  it  than,  if  I  had  once  sat  familiarly  by  a 
queen  in  her  palace,  I  could  forget  the  name  of  her  king- 
dom. It  is  the  golden  columbine  of  New  Mexico,  the 
aquilegia  chrysantha. 

When  we  drive  down  from  "  our  garden  "  there  is  sel- 
dom room  for  another  flower  in  our  carriage.  The  top 
thrown  back  is  filled,  the  space  in  front  of  the  driver  is 
filled,  and  our  laps  and  baskets  are  filled  with  the  more 
delicate  blossoms.  We  look  as  if  we  were  on  our  way  to 
the  ceremonies  of  Decoration  Day.  So  we  are.  All  June 
days  are  decoration  days  in  Colorado  Springs,  but  it  is  the 
20 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


sacred  joy  of  life  that  we  decorate, — 
not  the  sacred  sadness  of  death.  Going 
northwest  from  the  town  towards  the 
mesa  or  table-land  which  lies  in  that 
direction  between  us  and  the  foot- 
hills, we  find  still  other  blossoms,  no 
less  beautiful  than  those  of  which  I 
have  spoken :  the  wild  morning-glory 
wreathes  the  willow  bushes  along  the 
Fountain  Creek  which  we  must  cross, 
and  in  the  sandy  spots  between  the 
bushes  grow  the  wild  heliotrope  in 
masses,  and  the  wild  onion,  whose 
delicate  clustered  umbels,  save  for  their  odor, 
would  be  priceless  in  bouquets.  Yellow  lu- 
pine, red  gilias,  wild  roses,  and  white  spiraeas 
are  here  also  ;  and  waving  by  the  roadsides,  careless  and 
common  as  burdocks  in  New  England,  grows  the  superb 
mentzelia.  This  is  a  regal  plant ;  the  leaves  are  of  a  bluish- 
green,  long,  jagged,  shining,  like  the  leaves  of  the  great 
thistles  which  so  adorn  the  Roman  Campagna ;  the  plant 
grows  some  two  feet  or  two  and  a  half  feet  high,  and 

21 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


branches  freely.  Each  branch  bears  one  or  more  blossoms, 
—  a  white,  many-pointed  starry  disk,  in  its  centre  a  wide 
falling  tuft  of  fine  silky  stamens.  Here  also  we  find  a 
large  white  poppy  whose  leaves  much  resemble  the  leaves 
of  the  mentzelia ;  and  in  the  open  stretches  beyond  the 
creek,  the  ground  is  white  and  pink  every  afternoon  with 
the  blossoms  of  four-o'clocks.  There  must  be  several 
varieties  of  these,  for  some  are  large  and  some  are  small, 
and  they  have  a  wide  range  of  color,  white,  pinkish-white, 
and  clear  pink.  Higher  up,  on  the  top  of  the  mesa,  we 
come  to  great  levels  which  are  dotted  with  brilliant  points 
of  fiery  scarlet  everywhere  ;  the  first  time  one  sees  a 
scarlet  "  painter's  brush "  (castilleia)  a  few  rods  ahead  of 
him  in  the  grass  is  a  moment  he  never  forgets ;  it  looks 
like  a  huge  dropped  jewel  or  a  feather  fallen  from  the 
plumage  of  some  gorgeous  bird.  There  are  two  colors 
of  the  castilleia  here,  —  one,  of  an  orange  shade  of  scarlet, 
and  the  other  of  the  brightest  cherry  red.  But  beautiful 
as  is  the  castilleia,  it  is  not  the  mesas  crowning  glory : 
vivid  as  is  its  color,  the  pale  creamy  tints  of  the  yucca 
blossoms  eclipse  it  in  splendor.  This  also  is  a  thing  a 
lover  of  flowers  will  never  forget,  —  the  first  time  he  saw 

22 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


yuccas  by  the  hundred  in  full  flower  out-of-doors.  It  grows 
in  such  abundance  on  this  mesa  that  in  winter  the  solid 
green  of  its  leaves  gives  a  tone  of  color  to  whole  acres. 
Spanish  bayonet  is  its  common  name  here,  and  not  an 
inappropriate  one,  for  the  long,  blade-like  leaves  are  stiff 
and  pointed  as  rapiers.  They  grow  in  bristling  bunches 
directly  from  the  root ;  the  outer  ones  spread  wide,  and 
sometimes  lie  on  the  ground  ;  from  the  centre  of  this 
"  chevaux  de  frise  '  rise  the  flower-spikes,  usually  only  one, 
sometimes  two  or  three,  from  one  to  two  and  a  half  feet 
high,  set  thick  with  creamy  white  cups  which  look  more 
like  a  magnolia  flower  than  like  any  thing  else.  I  counted 
once  seventy-two  on  a  spike  about  two  feet  long.  Profusely 
as  the  yucca  grows  on  this  mesa,  we  do  not  get  so  many  of 
them  as  we  would  like,  for  the  cows  are  fond  of  them  and 
eat  the  blossoms  as  fast  as  they  come  out.  What  a  picture 
it  is,  to  be  sure,  —  a  vagrant  cow  rambling  along  mile 
after  mile,  munching  the  tops  of  spikes  of  yucca  blossoms ! 
There  ought  to  be  something  transcendent  in  the  quality 
of  her  milk  after  such  a  day  as  that.  )  V-cr  :  / 

Beside  the  castilleia  and  the  yucca,  there  grow  on  this 
mesa  many  of  the  vetches,  especially  a  large  white  variety, 

23 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


which  I  have  a  misgiving  that  I  ought  to  call  astragalus, 
and  not  vetch. 

The  mesa  slopes  away  to  the  east  and  to  the  west ;  it 
is  really  a  sort  of  causeway,  or  flattened  ridge ;  on  its  sides 
are  innumerable  small  nooks  and  hollows  which,  catching 
and  holding  a  little  more  moisture  than  the  surface  above, 
are  full  of  oak-bushes,  little  green  oases  on  the  bare  slopes ; 
in  these  grow  several  flowering  shrubs,  spiraeas,  and  others 
whose  names  I  know  not. 

Crossing  the  mesa  and  entering  the  foot-hills  again,  we 
come  to  little  brook-fed  glens  and  parks  where  grow  all  the 
flowers  I  have  mentioned ;  yes,  and  more,  for,  I  bethink 
me,  I  have  not  yet  spoken  of  the  white  clematis,  —  virgin's 
bower,  as  it  is  called  in  New  England.  This  runs  riot 
along  every  brook-course  in  the  region,  —  this  and  the  wild 
hop,  the  white  feathery  clusters  of  the  one  and  the  swing- 
ing green  tassels  of  the  other  twisting  and  intertwisting, 
and  knitting  everything  into  a  tangle ;  and  the  blue  iris 
also,*  in  great  spaces  in  moist  meadows,  and  the  dainty 
nodding  bells  of  the  wild  flax  a  little  farther  up  on  the  hills, 
and  the  yellow  lady's-slipper,  and  the  coreopsis,  and  the 
mertensia,  which  has  drooping  spikes  of  small  blue  bells 
24 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


that  are  pink  on  the  outside  when  they  are  folded  up.  And 
I  believe  that  there  are  yet  others  which  I  do  not  recollect, 
besides  some  which  I  remember  too  vaguely  to  describe, 
having  seen  them  perhaps  only  once  from  a  car  window, 
as  I  saw  a  gorgeous  plant  on  the  Arkansas  meadows, 
one  day.  It  was  a  great  sheaf  of  waving  feathery  spikes 
of  yellow.  It  is  true  that  a  railroad  train  waited  for  me 
while  I  had  this  plant  taken  up  and  brought  on  board.  I 
nursed  it  carefully  with  water  and  shade  all  the  way  from 
Pueblo  to  Colorado  Springs,  but  it  was  dead  when  I 
reached  home,  and  nobody  could  tell  me  its  name.  After- 
wards a  botanist  told  me  that  it  must  have  been  stanleya 
pinnatifida,  but  I  liked  my  name  for  it  better, — golden 
prince's  feather.  J-ataavM 

If  it  were  ever  possible  to  weary  of  the  flora  in  the 
vicinity  of  Colorado  Springs,  and  to  long  for  some  new 
flowers,  one  need  but  go  a  few  hours  farther  south  to 
Canyon  City,  and  he  will  strike  an  almost  tropical  flora. 
Here  grow  twelve  different  varieties  of  cactus  either  in  the 
town  itself  or  on  the  slopes  of  the  hills  around  it ;  some  of 
these  varieties  are  very  rare ;  all  bear  brilliant  blossoms, 
yellow,  scarlet,  and  bright  purple.  Here  grow  all  the 

25 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


flowers  which  we  have  at  Colorado  Springs,  with  many 
others  added.  A  short  extract  from  a  paper  written  by  an 
enthusiastic  Canyon  City  botanist  will  give  to  botanists  a 
better  idea  of  the  flora  of  Colorado  than  they  could  get 
from  volumes  of  my  rambling  enthusiasm. 

"  There  is  no  pleasanter  botanical  trip  in  the  vicinity  of 
Canyon  City  than  a  walk  beyond  the  bath-rooms  of  the  hot 
springs  to  the  gate  of  the  mountains,  up  the  canyon  of  the 
Arkansas,  and  to  the  top  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  a  distance 
of  about  four  miles.  The  grandeur  of  the  far  mountain 
summits  covered  with  eternal  snow,  the  perpendicular  cliffs 
over  one  thousand  feet  high,  the  great  river  boiling  and 
dashing  along  its  rocky  channel,  are  sources  of  excitement 
nowhere  else  combined  ;  but  to  any  one  interested  in  flow- 
ers, their  beauty,  their  abundance,  and  the  rare  species  that 
meet  you  at  every  step  make  the  trip  wonderfully  interest- 
ing. Here  among  the  rocks  are  the  most  northern  known 
stations  of  the  ferns,  pellaea  wrightiana  and  cheilanthes 
eatoni ;  and  on  the  walls  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  more  than  a 
thousand  feet  above  the  river,  grows  the  very  rare  asplenium 
septentrionale,  which  the  wild  big-horn,  or  mountain  sheep, 
26 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


seem  to  appreciate  so  much  that  it  is  difficult  to  find  a 
specimen  not  bitten  by  them.  The  syringa  (philadelphus 
microphyllus)  is  growing  wherever  it  can  find  a  foot-hold, 
and  here  and  there  is  a  bunch  of  the  rare  western  Emory's 
oak,  that,  like  several  other  plants,  seems  to  have  wandered 
in  from  the  half-explored  region  of  the  great  Colorado 
River  of  Arizona.  The  lateral  canyons  are  full  of  fallugia 
paradoxa,  with  its  white  flowers  and  plumed  fruit,  and 
where  little  streams  of  water  come  dashing  over  the  rocks 
and  losing  themselves  in  mist,  the  golden  columbine  of 
New  Mexico,  aquilegia  chrysantha,  grows  to  perfection. 
The  scarlet  pentstemon,  blue  pentstemon,  the  brilliant 
gilia  aggregata,  spiraeas,  castilleias,  and  hosts  of  less  showy 
but  equally  interesting  plants  occupy  every  available  piece 
of  soil.  The  beauty  of  the  flora  is  as  indescribable  as  the 
grandeur  of  the  scenery. 

"  The  abundance  of  the  four-o'clock  family  is  noticeable. 
All  of  the  nyctaginaceae  of  Colorado  are  found  about  Can- 
yon City,  and  some  of  them  as  yet  only  in  this  part  of  the 
territory.  Most  of  them  are  very  interesting,  and  their 
beauty  forms  a  very  prominent  feature  of  our  flora  in  June 
and  July.  Abronia  fragrans  whitens  whole  acres  of  land  ; 

27 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


and  the  large,  conspicuous  flowers  of  mirabilis  multiflora 
are  seen  all  over  the  town  ;  opening  their  flowers  late  in 
the  afternoon  in  company  with  the  vespertine  mentzelias, 
they  are  fresh  and  bright  during  the  most  pleasant  part  of 
the  summer  day.  The  Soda  Spring  Ledge,  from  which 
boils  the  cold  mineral  water,  is  a  locality  rich  in  rare  plants. 
Here  grow  thamnosma  texana,  abutilon  parvulum,  allionia, 
incarnata,  tricuspis  acuminata,  mirabilis  oxybaphoides,  etc. 
"  The  common  flowers  of  Colorado  are  very  abundant 
around  Canyon  City  and  in  its  vicinity.  The  monarda  grows 
upon  the  mesas  ;  exquisite  pentstemons  adorn  the  brooks  ; 
rosa  blanda  and  the  more  beautiful  rosa  arkansana  are  found 
on  the  banks  oi  the  Arkansas  ;  eriogonum  and  astragalus 
are  numerous  in  species  and  numberless  in  specimens  ; 
the  grass  fields  of  Wet  Mountain  Valley  are  full  of  clovers 
and  cypripedium,  iris  and  lilies  ;  the  botanist,  wandering 
through  the  canyons  of  the  Sangre  di  Cristo  range,  tram- 
ples down  whole  fields  of  white  and  blue  larkspur  and 
delicate  mertensia.  The  summits  are  covered  with  woolly- 
headed  thistles,  phlox,  senecios,  forget-me-nots,  saxifraga, 
and  the  numberless  beauties  of  the  Alpine  flora.  And 
besides  all  this,  perhaps  no  locality  in  the  world  affords 
28 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


better  opportunities  to  the  col- 
lector to  fill  his  herbarium 
with  beautiful  and  rare  speci- 
mens easily  and  rapidly.  The 
wealth  of  foliage  found  in 
moister  climates  does  not  obstruct 
the  view  and  hide  the  more  modest 
flowers,  while  the  perpendicular  range 
of  nearly  two  thousand  feet,  through  which  he  may  pass 
on  his  botanical  rambles,  carries  him  from  a  climate  as 
genial  as  that  of  Charleston  to  one  as  thoroughly  boreal 
as  that  of  the  glaciers  of  Greenland."  Not  the  least 
of  the  delights  of  living  in  such  a  flower-garden  as 
Colorado  in  June  and  July  is  the  delight  of  seeing  the 
delight  which  little  children  take  in  the  flowers. 
Whenever  in  winter  I  try  to  recall  the  face  of  our 
June,  I  think  I  recall  the  blossoms  oftenest  as  they 
look  in  the  hands  of  the  school-children. 
Morning,  noon,  and  evening,  you  see 
troops  of  children  going  to  and  fro,  all 
carrying  flowers  ;  the  babies  on  doorsteps 
are  playing  with  them  ;  and  late  in  the 

29 


Flowers  in  Colorado. 


afternoon,  as  you  drive  through  the  streets,  you  see  many 
a  little  sand-heap  in  which  are  stuck  wilted  bunches  of 
flowers,  that  have  meant  a  play-garden  all  day  long  to 
some  baby  who  has  gone  to  sleep  now,  only  to  wake  up  the 
next  morning  and  pick  more  flowers  to  make  another 
garden.  And  among  the  sweet  sayings  which  I  have 
heard  from  the  mouths  of  children,  one  of  the  very 
sweetest  was  that  of  a  little  girl  not  six  years  old,  who  has 
never  known  any  summer  less  lavish  than  Colorado's.  As 
soon  as  the  flowers  come  she  is  impatient  of  every  hour 
she  is  obliged  to  spend  in-doors.  At  earliest  dawn  she 
clamors  to  be  taken  up  and  dressed,  exclaiming,  "  I  must 
get  up  early,  there  is  so  much  to  do  to-day  ;  there  are  so 
many  flowers  to  be  picked."  Coming  in  one  day  with  her 
hands  full  of  flowers  which  had  grown  near  the  house,  she 
gave  them  one  by  one  to  her  mother,  gravely  calling  them 
by  their  names  as  she  laid  them  in  her  mother's  hand.  Of 
the  last  one,  a  tiny  blue  flower,  she  did  not  know  the  name. 
Looking  at  it  earnestly  for  a  moment  or  two,  she  said  hesi- 
tatingly, as  she  placed  it  with  the  rest,  "And  this  one  — 
this  —  is  a  kiss  from  the  good  God.  He  sends  them  so." 
30 


HELEN  JACKSON'S  WRITINGS. 


A   KEY  TO  "RAMONA." 

A  CENTURY  OF  DISHONOR. 

A  Sketch  of  the  United  States  Government's  Dealings 

with  some  of  the  Indian  Tribes, 
A  New  Edition.     I2mo.     pp.  514.     Cloth.    $1.50. 

Mrs.  Jackson  devoted  a  whole  year  of  her  life  to  writing  and  compiling 
materials  for  "A  Century  of  Dishonor,"  and  while  thus  engaged  she  mentally 
resolved  to  follow  it  with  a  story  which  should  have  for  its  motif  the  cause  of  the 
Indian.  After  completing  her  "  Report  on  the  Condition  and  Needs  of  the 
Mission  Indians  of  California  "  (see  Appendix,  p.  458)  she  set  herself  down  to 
this  task,  and  "  Ramona  "  is  the  result.  This  was  in  New  York  in  the  winter 
of  1883-84,  and  while  thus  engaged  she  wrote  her  publisher  that  she  seemed  to 
have  the  whole  story  at  her  fingers'  ends,  and  nothing  but  physical  impossibility 
prevented  her  from  finishing  it  at  a  sitting.  Alluding  to  it  again  on  her  death- 
bed, she  wrote  :  "  I  did  not  write  Ramona;'  it  was  written  through  me.  My 
life-blood  went  into  it,  —  all  I  had  thought,  felt,  and  suffered  for  five  years  on  the 
Indian  question." 

The  report  made  by  Mrs.  Jackson  and  Mr.  Kinney  is  grave,  concise,  and 
deeply  interesting.  It  is  added  to  the  Appendix  of  this  new  edition  of  her  book. 
In  this  California  journey  Mrs.  Jackson  found  the  materials  for  "  Ramona,"  the 
Indian  novel,  which  was  the  last  important  work  of  her  life,  and  in  which  nearly 
all  the  incidents  are  taken  from  life.  In  the  report  of  the  Mission  Indians  will 
be  found  the  story  of  the  Temecula  removal,  and  the  tragedy  of  Alessandro'a 
death,  as  they  appear  in  "Ramona." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 


Mrs.  Jackson's  Letter  of  Gratitude  to  the  President. 

The  following  letter  from  Mrs.  Jackson  to  the  President  was 
written  by  her  four  days  before  her  death,  Aug.  12,  1885  :  — 

To  GROVER  CLEVELAND,  President  of  the  United  States  : 

Dear  Sir,  —  From  my  death-bed  I  send  you  a  message  of  heartfelt  thanks  for 
what  you  have  already  done  for  the  Indians.  I  ask  you  to  read  my  "  Century 
of  Dishonor."  I  am  dying  happier  for  the  belief  I  have  that  it  is  your  hand  that 
is  destined  to  strike  the  first  steady  blow  toward  lifting  this  burden  of  infamy 
from  our  country,  and  righting  the  wrongs  of  the  Indian  race. 

With  respect  and  gratitude, 

HELEN  JACKSON 


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reader  has  finished  it,  he  will  find  that  he  knows  a  great  deal  more  about  life  in 
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the  heart  of  a  woman. 

H.  H.'s  choice  of  words  is  of  itself  a  study  of  color.  Her  picturesque  dfc- 
tion  rivals  the  skill  of  the  painter,  and  presents  the  woods  and  waters  of  the 
Great  West  with  a  splendor  of  illustration  that  can  scarcely  be  surpassed  by  the 
brightest  glow  of  the  canvas.  Her  intuitions  of  character  are  no  less  keen  than 
her  perceptions  of  Nature.  —  N.  Y,  Tribune. 

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and  includes  some  fourteen  papers  relating  to  life  in  California  and  Oregon,  in 
Scotland  and  England,  and  on  the  North  Shore  of  Europe  in  Germany,  Den- 
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4to.  Cloth.  Price,  $2.00  ;  or,  each  volume  separately, 

$1.25. 

The  subject  is  attractive,  for  there  is  nothing  children  take  a  more  real  in- 
terest in  than  cats  ;  and  the  writer  has  had  the  good  sense  to  write  neither  above 
nor  below  her  subject.  The  type  is  large,  so  that  those  for  whom  the  book  is 
intended  may  read  it  themselves.  .  .  .  For  details  we  must  refer  all  interested 
to  the  story  itself,  which  seems  to  us  written  with  admirable  verisimilitude.  — 
London  Academy. 

Sold  by  all  booksellers.  Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
*he  price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


HELEN  JACKSON'S   WRITINGS. 

BAMONA.     A  Story.    i2mo.    Cloth.   Price,  $1.50. 
(8oth  thousand.) 

The  Atlantic  Monthly  says  of  the  author  that  she  is  "a  Murillo  in  litera- 
ture," and  that  the  story  "is  one  of  the  most  artistic  creations  of  American 
literature."  Says  a  lady:  "To  me  it  is  the  most  distinctive  piece  of  work  we 
have  had  in  this  country  since  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,'  and  its  exquisite  finish  of 
style  is  beyond  that  classic."  "  The  book  is  truly  an  American  novel,"  says 
the  Boston  Advertiser.  "  Ramona  is  one  of  the  most  charming  creations  of 
modern  fiction,"  says  CHARLES  D.  WARNER.  "  The  romance  of  the  story  is 
irresistibly  fascinating,"  says  The  Independent.  "The  best  novel  written  by  a 
woman  since  George  Eliot  died,  as  it  seems  to  me,  is  Mrs.  Jackson's  '  Ramona,'  " 
says  T.  W.  HIGGINSON. 

ZEPH.    A  Posthumous   Story.      121110.      Cloth. 
Price,  $1.25. 

Those  who  think  that  all  the  outrage  and  wrong  are  on  the  side  of  the  man, 
and  all  the  suffering  and  endurance  on  the  side  of  the  woman,  cannot  do  better 
than  read  this  sad  and  moving  sketch.  It  is  written  by  a  woman  ;  but  never,  I 
think,  have  I  heard  of  more  noble  and  self-sacrificing  conduct  than  that  of  the 
much-tried  husband  in  this  story,  or  conduct  more  vile  and  degrading  than  that 
of  the  woman  who  went  by  the  name  of  his  wife.  Such  stories  show  how  much 
both  sexes  have  to  forgive  and  forget.  The  author,  who  died  before  she  could 
complete  this  little  tale  of  Colorado  life,  never  wrote  anything  more  beautiful  for 
its  insight  into  human  nature,  and  certainly  never  anything  more  instinct  with 
true  pathos.  A  writer  of  high  and  real  gifts  as  a  novelist  was  lost  to  the  world 
by  the  untimely  death  of  Mrs.  Jackson.  —  The  Academy,  London. 

BETWEEN  WHILES.     A  Collection  of  Sto- 
ries.    I2mo.     Cloth.     Price,  $1.25. 

Mrs.  Helen  Jackson's  publishers  have  collected  six  of  her  best  short  stories 
into  this  volume.  Most  of  them  appeared  in  magazines  in  the  last  year  or  two 
of  her  life.  "  The  Inn  of  the  Golden  Pear,"  the  longest  and  by  far  the  strongest 
of  them  all,  is,  however,  entirely  new  to  the  public. 

Outside  of  her  one  grea  romance  ("  Ramona  "),  the  author  has  never  appealed 
to  the  human  heart  with  more  simple  and  beautiful  certainty  than  in  these  de- 
lightful pictures.  —  Bulletin,  San  Francisco. 

Mrs.  Helen  Jackson's  "  Little  Bel's  Supplement,"  the  touching  story  of  a 
young  schoolmistress  in  Prince  Edward's  Island,  is  not  likely  to  be  forgotten  by 
any  one  who  has  read  it.  The  high  and  splendid  purpose  that  directed  the 
literary  work  of  '  H.  H.,"  and  which  is  apparent  in  nearly  everything  that  came 
from  her  pen,  was  supported  by  a  peculiar  power,  unerring  artistic  taste,  and 
a  pathos  all  her  own.  This  charming  tale  and  one  about  the  Adirondacks  and 
a  child's  dream  form  part  of  the  contents  of  this  posthumous  volume,  to  which, 
on  her  death-bed,  she  gave  the  beautiful  title  "  Between  Whiles."  It  is  worthy 
to  be  placed  alongside  of  her  most  finished  pieces.  —  Commercial  A  dvertiser, 
New  York. 

MERCY    PHILBRICK'S     CHOICE.       i6mo. 
Cloth.     Price,  $1.00. 

HETTY'S      STRANGE     HISTORY.       i6mo. 
Cloth.     Price,  $1.00. 

These  two  stories  were  originally  published  anonymously,  having  been  written 
for  the  "  No  Name  Series  "  of  novels,  in  which  they  had  a  large  popularity. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


